oo4 ❄ An ancient puzzle piece

[anonfantry]

[ On the outset, there's nothing really sinister about the little mountain town. Cast in the dull, grey-green daylight filtering down through a summer-thinned cap of fog, it may seem eerie - especially mountainside, where the winding trails begin and the shadow of that grand, abandoned manor looms (if asked, of course, the locals will tell you it's haunted; about this, the children are quite serious, and the adults only moderately less so). But it is a safe haven away from the badly mutated monsters that roam the countryside freely and before the equally bloodthirsty spires of the nigh impassable range beyond.

There is a cozy inn, a well-stocked general store, and a small population of drably-garbed villagers bustling about. The shouts of the town's few children racing to and fro echo through the crisp, clear air; nearer to the center of the town's miniature main common, the steady flow of water in the towering well adds to the calm, almost sleepy atmosphere that pervades this simple, scenic little wide spot in the road.

On the surface, there's nothing wrong at all. Unless, that is, you happen to spot the lone resident here who seems the least bit out of place.

He looks just like a native: a pale, blue-eyed child with blond hair that stands up adamantly in messily arranged spikes - even at the ends, where it's been pulled back into a short ponytail. His clothes are a little big for him - a boy of no more than seven or nine, give or take a year or two if he's small for his age (and he is) - including the scuffed up, clunky brown boots on his feet. There are grass stains and ground in dirt in dark patches on his shirt and shorts, both a little threadbare. And he is insubstantial to the point of transparency, a shadow in the shadow of the well with his half-corporeal hands clasped around something obscured just enough to be of no shape at all, hidden in his grip where it hovers just before his chest.

He seems anxious, as children attempting to keep obvious secrets out in the open often are, but not bothered by the fact that no one else here appears able to see him. Whenever a villager drifts close, they always abruptly change course, or stop, as if remembering some other forgotten errand, and promptly trace their steps back. Nobody glances in his direction except to look past him to some other point in the distance. (If asked, of course, he'll say it's normal, and with all due sincerity, too.)

With one last furtive glance cast over the house across the dusty little plaza from him, he rolls the object over in his hands and comes to some crucial decision. Setting out determinedly from the safe spot beneath the water tower, Cloud skirts past his own home, giving it a wide berth, and forges determinedly on toward the twisting path that leads out of town - and up into the Nibel mountains. ]


[ ooc: no theme, just horrible!! childhood dreams. B[ i have no excuse. responses will come from justskinnedknees unless/until Cloud reverts to his usual self. ]

Comments

[waterfell]

[The lines between dream and reality can be blurred and hard to discern sometimes. There are days when she wakes up and it takes her several minutes to take stock of who she is and what life she really leads.

Then there are the times when reality blurs inside a dream, in the hazy impression of Cloud that somehow doesn't seem properly tangible. Mercury's head turns as he passes by at the water tower; her eyes follow him.

She catches him at the entrance of the town, arms folded across her chest. Her eyes narrow as she looks at him more closely. She speaks his name with unusual uncertainty.]

Cloud Strife?

Ahhh, tiny Cloud. I couldn't resist; when childhood dreams meet!

[pinnaculum]

[Sephiroth doesn't look like a native, but then, he doesn't look like a native of anywhere.

He stands studying the mansion. Then he turns to gaze down at the town. There's something familiar... Has he been here before? He isn't sure. It isn't anything like the lab, but he feels like the house and especially the landscape viewed from here remind him of something he saw a long time ago. Which, at his age, could be as little four or five years. Could it have anything to do with Professor Gast? He'd like to know what happened to the professor. He considers going inside. He could force his way in if the building is locked up, but he doesn't hurry, taking his time to assess the situation, as he was trained to do.

He's quietly exploring the area when he catches a flicker of movement and sees another child coming past on the nearby trail, headed toward the mountains.

Not one to be shy, Sephiroth doesn't hesitate to flicker through the space between them (though he remembers to approach the last distance at a normal pace), eyes bright with Mako and curiosity. He rarely gets to play with other children, especially without supervision. In contrast to Cloud's worn garb, Sephiroth is dressed in Shinra-issue clothing: neat, gray, and utilitarian, from his collared shirt to the tip of his boots. He has a sword, child-sized yet sharp, but it's sheathed now.]

Hello. Do you live here?